


remembering is the worst pasttime

by cettevieestbien



Series: help, i've soulmate ficced again, and i can't stop doing it [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Ballet, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Natasha Feels, Not A Fix-It, Not Canon Compliant, Soulmates, Steve Feels, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cettevieestbien/pseuds/cettevieestbien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve knew he made eye contact with the little girl with the shock of bright red hair, and he felt something snap inside of him.</p><p>Natasha dreamed of shrapnel, of bullets and bombs, of trains and the GPs, for months after. She thought he’d died surrounded by bodies.</p><p>OR</p><p>Steve and Natasha are soulmates. They don't have a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	remembering is the worst pasttime

**Author's Note:**

> soulmate trope: can hear each others thoughts, but only ones thought during times of extreme emotion. this was written in less than half an hour, as it's just a small drabble.
> 
> sorry for the sad y'all!
> 
> I'm going to put this is my bloopers fic, as well.

Steve remembered flashes of Russia. The Commandos hadn’t been there long, just a few days at most. Their trip there had been both preceded and succeeded by battles where Steve was hurt - shrapnel in the leg, a bullet in the shoulder - so he never thought about why he couldn’t recall every second he spent there.

 

But he did know one thing - there was a show they went to, a courtesy from a few Russian soldiers. 

 

It was ballet, ten little girls with pale skin and hair in high buns gracefully moving across the stage, accompanied by a lilting tune. He knew there were two little girls with red hair - one was bright red, and the other was closer to blonde.

 

He knew he made eye contact with the little girl with the shock of bright red hair, and he felt something snap inside of him. She gave him a wide eyed look, he recalled, and then proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the dance.

 

And he’d told his men, he  _ had _ , but Dum Dum had decided to get into a fight and Bucky had dragged him away. He never saw her again.

 

He tried to return to Russia at every chance he got. He told his supervisors about her, hoping they would put it on record. He asked the soldiers who took them if they knew who had performed, but they evaded the question. Steve never found out her name.

 

He thought about her as he told Peggy about their date he knew he wouldn't’ make. He thought of her green eyes, her graceful, silent moves. He thought about how she’d never meet him, because he was going to die on her. He thought about how they would have a hard time finding his body, leaving her with one more let down.

 

He thought,  _ I’m sorry _ as he lied down, shivering and in pain. He repeated the thought, obsessively hoping she heard him, until he stopped breathing. Until he stopped thinking altogether.

 

Steve wasn’t a good soulmate. He died before they could even see each other more than once. But he knew it was for the better - for her better.

  
...

 

Natasha didn’t think back to childhood if she could manage it. She had no time to think about people who hated her and things she hated doing.

 

Her job allowed her to distance herself from her own memories. She had people to save, jobs to end, groups to destroy. There was no chance of thinking back on her life.

 

But, on the nights she wasn’t on a op, when she lied in bed, she saw blue eyes and a chiseled jaw. She saw the American flag pin that sat above a slew of other medals.

 

She thought of a deep voice in her head, begging for forgiveness.  _ I’m sorry _ , over and over, for hours.

 

Her handlers had snapped at her, forcing her to pretend her soulmate wasn’t dying. To ignore the regrets of an American soldier.

 

She never responded, and she will forever regret it.

 

She knew who he was, now. Knew how he died, knew how she could have helped him along to death. She’d thought, at the time, that he’d been like any other soldier, and died a slow and painful death inflicted by the horrors of war.

 

She’d dreamed of shrapnel, of bullets and bombs, of trains and the GPs, for months after. She thought he’d died surrounded by bodies.

 

But he’d died alone, in a barren field of ice. Officials said, now, that he probably froze to death. If not, he didn’t have any food or drink, so he died from starvation or thirst. He could’ve left the plane, but again, froze to death.

 

She pretended he was never alive. She hated thinking about his death, hated hearing his sorries again and again.

 

Natasha wasn’t much of a soulmate, hiding from her destiny. But it was easier to hide than to remember how she let him down.


End file.
